Sidetracked

  “She’s calling again tomorrow night,” says Heather, “to give me time to think about it. But I don’t know what to say.”

  I can’t believe I have an answer to that, but I do. It seems like the only advice that seems right. “Just tell her the truth,” I say. I just wish I knew what that will turn out to be.

  We both head toward the classroom door, but before she opens it, Heather says, “Remember, J’ai, tu as, nous avons, vous avez.”

  “What?” I say.

  “The quiz. J’ai, tu as, nous avons, vous avez.”

  “Oh. Oh, yeah. Got it.”

  I follow her in and Madame Labelle motions for us to hurry and sit down. Everybody else has started the quiz. It’s on the verb avoir, “to have.” It’s almost as hard as être, “to be.”

  I look at the first question: “As-tu une amie?” Do you have a friend?

  I write down “Oui, j’ai une amie.”

  I hope it’s the right answer.

  Chapter 26

  “I feel sick,” says Wes.

  I doubt that anybody’s stomach is feeling too great, since it’s the afternoon of the league meet and it’s a quarter to four. But I have to admit, Wes looks worse than the rest of us. Ten schools have come to Lakeview, and we’re all here in our uniforms, in red and blue and orange and green and purple, with school names shouting from our chests. I made sure to wash my singlet myself last night. Unfortunately, Grandpa’s new red T-shirt was in there already, so my Lakeview Leopards blue is now a pale lavender.

  Wes moans and rubs his stomach.

  “What did you have for lunch?” Sammy asks him.

  “A cherry Pop-Tart.”

  “Frosted?” asks Mark.

  “Duh,” says Wes. “And some chips I found in my locker.”

  “Barbecue?”

  “Dill pickle,” says Wes.

  “I think we have a winner,” Sammy says.

  There’s a roped-off chute that leads to the finish line, and it’s all decorated with Lakeview blue flags that wave in the wind. It seems like there are a million people here, and cheers break out every few minutes for Panthers and Bears and Hornets. Most of the other schools have seventh- and eighth-grade teams, but since this is our first year, we only have seventh. And seventh grade goes first.

  I’m trying to get into the festive mood, but I can’t. Heather wasn’t at practice yesterday. Coach gave her the afternoon off to rest her ankle, but it’s not like Heather to stay away just because somebody said she could. She didn’t answer my texts, and today she came in to both French and Science late and slipped out before I could even talk to her. I couldn’t even tell her that I somehow got a B+ on the French quiz.

  And now it’s the league meet and she’s not here.

  All the visiting teams have walked the course—across the field, through the woods, up White Oak, behind the gym, then back. In the race we’ll go back into the woods for a second time around. Victoria led the visiting girls and Sanjit led the boys.

  Coach T is standing a few paces away, holding a clipboard and looking over a list of names.

  I walk over to her. “Coach,” I say.

  She holds up a finger and spends about three more seconds staring at the papers. Then she turns to me, and even though she smiles, I see a little bit of worry on her face. Her eyes aren’t crinkling the way they usually do.

  “Heather’s not here,” I say.

  “I know,” she answers.

  “I talked to her yesterday and her mom . . . she might . . .”

  Coach T nods. “I know. She told me.” She looks at her watch. “But she said she’d be here for the meet. I know it means a lot to her.” She puts her hand on my arm and says, “There’s so much going on in Heather’s life right now.”

  “Coach!” calls Sammy. “Who’s first? Boys or girls?”

  Coach T lets Sammy’s question just hang there. “Are you okay?” she asks me.

  “I guess,” I say, but I wish things were different.

  “Heather will be all right. And you’re going to run a great race. A PR. I know you will.” She turns toward Sammy and the rest of the team. “Girls are first,” she calls out. She gives my arm a squeeze, then lets go and waves us all in. It’s time for our pep talk.

  When we gather around, Sanjit says, “Hey, why isn’t Heather here?”

  Teresa looks over at Heather’s usual stretching tree. “Coach T,” she asks, “where’s Heather?”

  “Don’t worry,” says Coach T. “I’m sure she’ll be here.”

  Coach T’s husband brought their bulldogs, George and Ringo. They join our circle and sit on either side of Coach T, like bodyguards. I sit on the ground next to Ringo. I rub the place where his neck slopes down to his shoulders. It’s fat and sturdy and smooth all at once. He smiles up at me and it makes me feel a little better, but Coach T reaches around him and pats me on the shoulder, to make sure I’m listening to everything she has to say.

  She tells us how proud she is of all of us. How much we’ve all improved. How this is our school’s first time hosting the league’s final middle school meet and we’ll always know, for the rest of our lives, that we were part of it. Then she gives us some final words of advice.

  “All of you, remember the work we’ve put in. All the times you’ve run up White Oak Lane. All the fartleks.”

  Even now, Sammy can’t hold in a laugh.

  “There are a lot of runners today. More than you’re used to. I want you to stay in a pack and go out fast. We want good position when we funnel into the woods, but then slow down. Pace yourselves. You know the course. Save something for the second time around, then”—she throws up her hands—“give it your all.”

  She looks around the circle, focusing in on each one of us for a few seconds. Then she says, “I’m depending on you to help one another. Boys, support the girls. Girls, cheer the boys on. I’m going to be over at the finish. I’ll try to get to the halfway point, but I know you can do it without me. Be a team. Run strong and try hard. That’s all I can ask. It’s all you can ask of yourselves.” She looks around at us one more time. “You know the course better than anybody. You know the woods. You’ve run the hill. There are no surprises, other than how you’re going to surprise yourselves.” She claps her hands. “So let’s go stretch, warm up. Have a great race!”

  I look around. JFK is here, and Fox Ridge, New Kingsfield, Hampton, Cross River, Eagleton, even two private schools, Xavier Prep and St. Aloysius. Their names alone scare me.

  And then there’s Brockton. The boys’ team is gathered in a huddle, right near the tree where I left my backpack. One kid is talking. When I get close, I hear words like “win” and “position” and then the word “wimps,” and they all laugh.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. I jump about ten feet and turn. It’s Heber. He’s wearing a light green T-shirt under his singlet, which is sort of a maroonish purple. He looks like a gigantic pistachio nut.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Have you gotten any faster?” he asks. “Because I haven’t.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “Not a lot, but a little faster.”

  “Well, don’t hang back with me, then. I only seem to get slower and slower.”

  “Well, maybe today’s the day.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  The ref blows his whistle. “Girls, line up!”

  I see four girls in Lakeview blue standing together, and I feel a catch in my throat.

  I hear the ref say, “Ready!” and I dig into my backpack, fumbling around to find my earplugs. I have one pair left.

  “Set . . .” calls the ref. I put the earplugs in, press my hands to my head as hard as I can, and close my eyes.

  Blam!

  I hear muffled laughter. I open my eyes, look to my right, and see the Brockton boys. They’re not watching the girls’ race, they’re watching me. One of them has his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed closed, imitating me.

  I try to
ignore them and pull out my earplugs, placing them carefully in my backpack’s side pocket, so I can find them again before my race.

  “Hey,” Heber says, “look at that girl.” I stand up and it takes me a few seconds to refocus. When I do, I see a light blue jersey, coming fast from the far right. She has to cover twice the ground that the others do just to get to the center of the field. Her ankle is bandaged, but her hair is flying, her stride long and graceful. Soon she’s crossed the whole field, and by the time they go into the woods she’s near the front. She’s not “going easy,” but I never thought she would.

  “Heather!” I call out as they slip into the trees. “Go, Heather!” I’m not sure if she hears me, but I scream as loud as I can.

  Now everybody troops over to the midway point by the gym, where the girls will come out after they’ve run the woods. It’ll be a few minutes, but everyone wants a good place to watch. “Come on,” I say to Heber, and he bounces along next to me.

  “Is that girl your girlfriend?” he asks.

  “Not a girlfriend. A friend.”

  “Still,” he says. “Do you think she could win?”

  “She usually does,” I answer.

  “Boy, I want your life,” says Heber, and I stop for a second and wonder how things have advanced to the point that anybody would say that.

  Everybody’s crowded by the corner of the gym. The runners will be out in the open for a few hundred yards and then head back to the woods for their second loop. We wait and wait, until finally we see them.

  Heather is in the lead. The JFK girl is close, but she’s no match for Heather. It doesn’t look like Heather’s ankle is giving her any trouble, or if it is, it doesn’t show.

  I yell as loud as I can, “Heather! Come on, Heather!” I hear Sammy and Wes shouting too, and then Mark and Sanjit. Even Heber joins in.

  She picks up the pace, and as she goes into the woods for the second time, she leaves the JFK girl even farther behind. We wait for Victoria and Teresa, and then after a couple more minutes, Brianne and Erica come through.

  We have a few minutes until they come around again. I scan the crowd for Grandpa, or my parents, or even Mrs. Fishbein. I don’t see any of them.

  But I see someone else: Heather’s dad. He’s standing on a hill, under a tall, leafless maple tree. I leave the others and run up to him. There isn’t a lot of time. “Over here,” I say, pulling him down toward the course. I don’t give him a chance to say anything. I just want him to see Heather finish.

  Instead of pushing into the crowd, where everyone’s clustered to get a first look, I take him over to the finish chute. There’s a rope to mark the course, and I put him next to it, where she’ll be sure to see him. “She’ll be coming through there,” I tell him, and before he can say anything, before he can catch my eye and give me any news I don’t want to hear, I hurry away. I can’t bear to think that Heather’s next race might be in Hawaii.

  I run back to join the team and wait for the runners to come around the gym.

  We don’t have to wait long. I hear a cheer start to my left. They’re the first ones who can see the leader. As she turns the corner, the rest of us can see the girl who’s out in front.

  It’s Heather.

  We yell her name and Sammy is jumping up and down and Sanjit is calling out, “Go! Strong to the finish!” She’s around the corner on her way across the field toward the finish chute.

  The other girls haven’t even come around the corner. We all know that Heather has it won.

  Except, instead of accelerating to the finish, she slows down. She takes a few steps and stops, right in the middle of the course. She’s looking at her dad, who is doing the strangest thing. He’s putting one fist over the other and switching them, left over right, right over left.

  Maybe it’s another one of those meaningless signals they use to trick their opponents. But it can’t be, because she’s the only one who’s watching. It isn’t meant to fool anybody. It’s only meant for Heather.

  The JFK girl can’t be that far behind. Heather has to start running again. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t run at all. She walks over to her dad and throws her arms around him. He wraps her in a hug, the rope and the little blue flags between them. He says something and points to the finish, but she shakes her head. I try to imagine what’s going on, but I can’t. It looks like Heather is crying, but maybe it’s happy crying or maybe it’s sad crying. I just don’t know.

  “What’s she doing?” squeals Sammy.

  “Why did she stop?” asks Mark.

  We hear another cheer and look back to see the JFK girl coming out from behind the gym. There’s a Hampton girl behind her.

  “They’re going to pass her!” yells Wes.

  “Heather, go!” I shout.

  “Heather! You’ve got to get going!” screams Mark. “They’re going to catch you!”

  Everybody is cheering so loud, maybe she can’t hear us. Or maybe she knows the other girls are coming and for once she doesn’t care.

  The JFK girl gives Heather a confused look as she races past, using the last of her energy to head for the chute and the finish line. The Hampton girl passes her, too. And then I see Heather’s dad kiss her on the head and say something, and she nods and wipes her eyes and that’s when she sees the green jerseys. Three Brockton girls are coming fast.

  They pick up their pace, thinking they can get past her, but they don’t know Heather. Once she’s made up her mind, she takes off, and it’s like she’s flying, heading for the finish.

  Suddenly, she looks like the Heather I know.

  Or, maybe, like the Heather I knew.

  Chapter 27

  I wait with the other Lakeview boys for the rest of the girls’ team. Teresa and Victoria aren’t too far back, and it’s just a few more minutes before we see Brianne and Erica. We give them a cheer and watch as they gather together on the finish line side of the field.

  I hear the ref’s whistle. “Seventh-grade boys, ten minutes!” he announces. My stomach lurches. My head is filled with the shouts and cheers of the girls’ race, and I feel like I’ve already run ten races today. I go over to my backpack, taking some deep breaths. I reach into the side pocket for my earplugs.

  They’re gone.

  I look in the main compartment, digging way down deep, but they’re not there. I check all the side pockets again. I know I put them there. I know it. My hands are starting to shake and I have that panicky feeling I get when everything is going wrong.

  I hear a snort of laughter and look up. Two of the Brockton boys are watching me. When they see me look their way, they turn and make a big show of holding in their laughter in that way that makes it even worse. Then I see a third Brockton kid coming over to me. I recognize him now for sure. It’s the kid who pushed Heather.

  “What’s up?” he says. “Lose something?”

  “My earplugs,” I say. “I put them here in my backpack.”

  He opens his hand, holding out two mangled wads of green plastic. “Aw, I’m sorry,” he says in that way that means just the opposite. “They must’ve fallen out. I thought they were gum.” Then he drops them at my feet. “Tasted nasty.” He starts to turn away, but changes his mind. “Bad day in the laundry room?” he asks. He reaches out to touch my singlet and I swat his hand away. “Hey, sorry,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Well, you have a good race, bro.”

  He trots off to join the rest of the Brockton team.

  I reach down and pick up the chewed earplugs. They’re all pitted and covered in dirt. I squeeze them in my fist and lift my arm to throw them back down when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump and turn.

  “Grandpa!” I say.

  “You haven’t run already, have you? I didn’t miss it?”

  “No, no, you didn’t miss it,” I mumble.

  I’m trying to hold it in, but when I look at Grandpa’s worried face, it all catches up with me: the earplugs, the race, Heather. It’s not fair that she might go away, while
kids like the ones from Brockton never do. You can shake Charlie Kastner, but some Brockton kid will take his place. You could even lose the Brockton kid, and somebody new would show up. They multiply, and they find you, and they always, always win.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Grandpa. “Your folks are on the way. Your dad’s train . . .” I open my hand and show him the earplugs. “What are those?”

  “They were earplugs.” I let them fall to the ground. “They’re ruined. The ref fires a starting gun and without them I freeze, I can’t even start.” Then it all pours out of me. “And even if I run, I’ll be terrible. Brockton will win, because they always do and I’ll be last and I’ll embarrass you and Mom and Dad, because I’m slow and I’ll look stupid.”

  “Hey, slow down,” says Grandpa.

  “And Heather might be leaving—”

  “Heather?”

  “She’s moving to Hawaii.”

  “Boys! Five minutes!” calls the ref.

  “Okay,” says Grandpa. “Listen, we’ll talk about Heather later. Right now you have a race to run. Now, what’s this about the starting gun?”

  “It’s too loud. I freak out.”

  “I think if you concentrate—”

  “I can’t! You don’t understand! I can’t do it without the earplugs!”

  “You can, too. I know you can. You don’t have to be afraid of it, Superhero.”

  That’s when it explodes out of me. “I’m not a superhero!” I snap. “Stop calling me that! I am the complete, total opposite of a superhero!”

  I’ve never yelled at Grandpa before. He looks surprised, but not angry. He grabs hold of both my shoulders and looks into my face. “Of course you are. You are a superhero.” I try to pull away, but he holds me tight. “Listen. Why do you think you need the earplugs?”

  “Because I’m afraid—”

  “No! Because you hear more than other people. And you see more, and you feel so much more. That’s the part of you that I love. You have all those superpowers. Why do you think I call you that?”